Pucker Up
by Niham
Summary: First was the worst, second was the best, third was in a cocktail dress.... By seven he had already fallen for her. Seven kisses, seven drabbles. Ichirukia. R&R please.
1. First is the Worst

A/N: I know I should be uploading my Phantom Romance fanfic, but I couldn't resist. Six Ichirukia kisses…it makes me warm and fuzzy inside. Review please!

Pucker Up  


First is the Worst

If there was ever a way to ruin good first date, it was with a kiss. The kiss was the final touch. The delightful cherry perched atop a heaping Sunday ice cream. The kiss would either make or break the date, and for Ichigo, his fist kiss turned up to be a rotten cherry.

The kiss his firstkiss— was the absolute worst. He had expected sparks, fireworks, magical heart-to-heart connections, some special quixotic utopia. Ichigo liked the girl enough; she was smart, pretty, and had a respectable sense of humor.

Although it was a partial blind date, Ichigo found her company enjoyable. Hell, he even had that warm fuzzy feeling buzzing around his insides, a feeling that was slightly foreign.

The moment of destruction swooped in to waylay his date as they stepped up the stoop for goodnight. He thought: _Ah, screw it and give her a goodnight kiss, _but to his shock the girl used a 'lip-painting' technique. She ran her tongue over his lips in wide sloppy, wet circles. Around and around and around, went the dripping fleshy windmill.

What the hell?

It was like kissing a dish of soggy nachos— chomp, chomp, chomp!

Ichigo cringed.

A bit of _her _saliva dripped down the side of _his_ cheek. Something was horribly wrong with this picture. Not only was this girl massaging his lips with her tongue, but she bit on his teeth and breathed puffs of hot air into his mouth. O might thunder gods of Japan, he _had _to get away before she did something _totally _obscene and burped!

Adios nachos breath!

Ichigo pulled away, and at the release of their suctioned lips there was a loud _shloop! _Then he grabbed her shoulders and forced a two foot gap between them.

She looked up at him quizzically. "Is something wrong?"  
_  
_Ichigo gasped for breath.

His face, his cheeks, they were on fire. The drool was evaporating off his lips and chin. _What the _hell_ is your problem, woman? _He looked at her pretty brown curls, speechless, dumbfound, appalled. _Are you a girl or a friggin' dog? _  
_  
_His stomach said, _gag man,_ but his brain screamed, _smile God damn it!  
_

Putting on that fake smile was the most painful thing he had done all week. He peeled the edges of his traumatized mouth into a half grimace, half bogus grin. "Yeah…I…uh…I'll call you."

He was so _not_ going to call her.

Quickly leaving his ex-date on the cold front of her porch, Ichigo wiped his face, crinkled his nose in disgust, and swore that he was done with kissing for a while. Ichigo's first kiss was a nightmare that he had no desire to relive.

So be it.

- - -

A/n: I said seven kisses, but trust me the next six will be pure, wholesome ichirukia. This is just supporting the theme of my drabble series, and I felt like starting off with something funny. After all first is the worst and second is the best…Don't own Bleach and review please.  



	2. Second is the Best

**A/n: **The third line was taken from an avatar on I often use avatars as prompts. I've written two fanfics this way. Remember that rhyme when we were kids? "First is the worst, second is the best, third was in a polka dot dress…" That's the sequence I'll be using. Thanks reviewers!

**

* * *

**

**Pucker Up**

**Second is the Best**

_One kiss. _

_One kiss was all he needed._

One kiss…and BAM! Just like that she was the only one for him.  
  
If ever there was way to end a war, it was with a kiss. A kiss could make the universe stand still in a frozen interval. A sweet, light kiss possessed a great potential to bring opponents together. A gentle touch of the lips could terminate even the most brutal combat.  
_  
One kiss._

One kiss was all she needed.

One kiss and BAM! Just like that, she had his attention.  
  
They were in the midst of a violent snowball fight, the two of them.

Kuchiki versus Kurosaki.

Three soggy snowballs to the left cheek, and Ichigo had declared war.

They fought with their bare hands, scooping up handfuls of frosty white powder, and packing them down into frozen spheres, deadly ammunition. His jeans and socks were soaked through. His left cheek and the places on his neck where Rukia had ruthlessly nailed him were sore and burning.

Sooner or later one of them would call it quits. One of them would purpose a peace treaty. It sure as hell was not going to be Ichigo.

Ichigo returned the frosty missiles, launching them as hard as he could. War had no rules, so the laws of courtesy did not apply to Ichigo. He threw the snow just as hard as she did, without mercy, without pity.

A hard snowball hit Rukia square in the face. She slipped, fell backward, and smacked her head against the icy sidewalk. At first she lay motionless on the ice, but after a momen t or so she rolled over and sat up with a groan.

"Ichigo…hey, come here."

Yeah, like he was going to fall for that!

Ichigo took a few steps over, but kept a safe distance between them. Rukia was probably plotting to bombard his sympathy. Snow in the ear? No thank you!

"You chickening out Rukia?" He flexed his frozen fingers. It was almost time to go home.

"No, just come here."

He stomped over, mentally prepared to react to her 'sneaky' little ambush. "What?"

Rukia was hunched over, examining something in the snow. "Look." She pointed to a small recess. A paw print?

"I don't see anything."

"It's a bunny footprint!"

"Is not."

"You won't even look!"

With a sigh, he crouched down to examine the print. Ichigo was ready; ready to intercept the ambush. "It looks like a handprin— "

He caught Rukia's wrist in mid air, just inches away from his face, grasping a handful of snow. Her free hand flew through the air next, grasping a second handful of snow. Ichigo caught it deftly with his other hand.

He rolled his eyes. "Nice try," he scoffed. "Try to be a little more subtle next time."

Silence.

"What?"

Rukia bit her lip, as if to hold back a laugh. Her eyes beheld a pertly gleam; they twinkled, _mischief, mischief, mischief!_

"W-what's up with that look?"

He suddenly realized how close they were. Rukia leaned in closer. _Ah, man, not again!_ Just inches away, she paused. Before closing her eyes, she smirked. Ichigo braced himself for the worst.

_  
One kiss.  
_  
Short, gentle, and deep, Ichigo could taste the sugary glaze on her lips; no tongue, no air, no nachos. Just soft, rosepetal lips and sweet Chap Stick. The horrors of Ichigo's first kiss vanished. Finally, he found that quixotic utopia he had been looking for, finally.

_One kiss and Ichigo's chain of fate was wrapped around her finger.  
_  
A spell of snowflakes fluttered across the wind. Ichigo shuddered, but if it was because of the cold or delight, he wasn't sure. He released his grip on Rukia's wrists.

Both generals parted. The treaty had been signed.

Rukia smiled "Was that your first kiss?"

"N-no. What's so funny?"

Rukia lowered her head, turned her cheek into her shoulder, and laughed.  
"The look on your face…was I subtle enough?"

She was mocking him, and yet he didn't really care.  
_  
One kiss.  
_  
"Why— "

"Because I wanted to."

"Oh."

Rukia's laughter died suddenly. She looked at him very seriously. "Ichigo?"

He started to stand. "What?"

"I have something else for you."

_One kiss and she had his complete undivided attention.  
_  
Ichigo shifted uncomfortably in the wet snow. The soaked jeans stuck to the backs of his knees. "Y-yeah?"  
_  
One kiss…  
_  
WHACK!

Rukia shoved two large handfuls of snow into this face. Tiny icy particles went up his nose and in his ears. The treaty had been desecrated!

Ichigo coughed. He was furious. No, he was beyond furious. Words could not describe his impetuous wrath. She was _dead _meat!

"YOU LITTLE WITCH— "

But Rukia was already two hundred feet ahead. Her laughter filled the empty courtyard. Beneath the urge of vengeance, there was a spark of interest. Rukia had his undivided attention and was going to be pulverized.

All because of one kiss. 


	3. Third was in a Cocktail Dress

Pucker Up

Third was in a Cocktail Dress

Christmas is a time of warmth, a time for friends, a time to rejoice in another's company. As the darkest, coldest months of the year begin to wax, humans gather to celebrate the rebirth of light.

There is never a need for despair because even in the most sinister hour, there is always a token of hope.

A kiss.

A kiss will light up even the blackest night.

It really was a black night. The lights wouldn't go on. Five hours of stapling nets of green wire to the roof, two punctured fingers, and two near death experiences all for nothing.

Ichigo's impatience was about to go haywire, but before he threw himself off the roof in frustration, he tried one more time. He unplugged the wire, took a frustrated breath, and jammed it back into the socket.

Nothing. No lights. The dreary sky above was dull and black, illuminated in gloomy shadows. The drifting snowflakes had nothing to sparkle to; no lights. Even the orange street lights seemed duller than usual.

Damn _it! _

Ichigo sighed. Wonderful. A whole Saturday afternoon down the drain. Maybe it was time to call it a night. He was half frozen anyways, and it was getting late. Yuzu probably had dinner going too.

As he climbed down the latter, Ichigo noticed something: none of the lights were on inside the house. Even the porch light was dead. Odd. What on earth had happened to the electricity?

Clambering down, he passed one window that that was lit up by a dull candlelight. He frowned, peering in between the rungs.

Somebody was inside.

Ichigo squinted, looking closer, and realized the somebody wasn't just anybody. It was _Rukia_. She stood before a full length mirror, examining the dress, running her hands down her tiny frame with an analytical expression.

Then she flung her arms out and twirled around and around. The dark fabric of her dress fluttered, weaving in and out of the shadows, and twinkling in the candlelight as if someone had snatched a handful of stars and stitched them into the fabric.

The both laughed.

Around and around and around. Until Rukia noticed the man staring in through the window. She stopped mid spin, her face went cold and hard. With one hand perched on her hip, Rukia marched over to the window.

_Crap. _

It just occurred to him how wrong this must seem. Maybe he should run for it?

The window slid open. "Since when did you become a peeping Tom?"

Too late.

He pointed to the roof. "I'm put up lights, you dork," he said quickly. "And since when do you get dressed in candlelight?"

"Since you father decided to rewire the television cables."

"Oh." He looked up at the unlit Christmas lights dangling over the side of the gutter. "Makes sense…"

A strange pressure built up in the V shaped space between Ichigo's ribs. His insides squished together nervously. It was a feeling that was beyond his control. He liked it and hated it at the same time.

Now that she was closer, Ichigo could clearly see that the dress was a strange color, a wavering shade of blue and black and purple all the same time, sparkling in the candlelight. Her shoulders were bare and there was a tiny ruffle of blue lace on the hem at her chest.

"What's with the fancy dress?"

Rukia rolled her eyes, although Ichigo was sure that she was smiling. "It's for that party tomorrow, stupid. Remember?" she said. "For Christmas. You said it was a semi formal event."

He _had_ said that because it _was _a semi formal event. The clinic held the party every year at the beginning of the December for friends, family, former patients, and fellow doctors. The dressing up was merely for the sake of dressing up.

Rukia leaned out the window slightly, just several inches from his face so that he could smell the faint, sweet mist of her perfume. She had that wicked gleam in her eyes, just like last time. "Well, what do you think? Did Ishida do a good job?"

Ichigo thought about his second kiss. He was definitely willing to have another, but this was _Rukia_. There was no telling what sneaky plot she had in mind. Yet in the end, desire outshone caution.

A kiss a day will chase despair away.

He gripped the icy rungs tightly and gave Rukia a suspicious look. "You're not going to push me off the latter, are you?"

She laughed and leaned inward.

Ichigo's third kiss was very much like his second. It was one hundred times better than first: slow, deep, and gentle. He cherished the sweet glaze on her lips, felt the friction of their lips; the composure of her soft lips matching up with his, moving in a carefully measured rhythm.

Magical fireworks, tingly sensations, the whole shebang. It made his toes curl and his heart throb. _Flicker, flick, ta-da! _The lights still had not come on, but never the less, hope had returned.

Huh.

At this rate he was going to fall for Rukia, but at this rate Ichigo really didn't care.

- - -

A/n: Kind of a pointless drabble, but it doesn't matter because it's a drabble. I know it's a little early for the Christmas season, but I couldn't resist. So happy early Yuletide! Thanks reviewers, you guys are awesome. 


	4. Fourth was a Tease

Pucker Up

Fourth was a Tease

Love is a butterfly.

A small butterfly with dainty black wings and deep blue eyes. It goes where it pleases and pleases where it travels. Chase a butterfly in a meadow and it will flutter away. Chase a butterfly and be teased. Sit still, wait, and it will come.

Because butterflies love to tease.  
Ichigo had been kissed three times. Two out three he had enjoyed the kiss, and two out of three he had _been_ kissed. So it made perfect sense that on the fourth, _he _would be the one to take the initiative. _He _would make the move, not Rukia.

Rukia, in a metamorphic in sense, was what Ichigo called a 'hell butterfly.' It was hell trying _to_ kiss her. She was a butterfly with devil horns. A little black butterfly that he just couldn't quite grab.

It was aggravating. Absolutely aggravating. Ichigo felt like an idiot flailing his arms around, trying to c apture the butterfly fluttering over his head.

She would let him get close; maybe even just inches away. Then she would she scrunch up her shoulders, smirk, and step back. Or maybe just at the last moment, she would lean away and turn to the right so that he would miss and end up kissing her brow or cheek. If he sat next to her, she would get up and walk away, but never without a subtle wink.

His most embarrassing attempt had resulted with a complete hit and miss. He had thought it would best to move quick, so quick that she couldn't escape. If he had to use Bankai super speed, so be it. Unfortunately, he moved a little _too_ quickly, and someone just happened to call out Rukia's name. She whirled around and Ichigo missed completely.

SPLASH!

He went head first into the deep end of his high school pool. As the air bubbles gurgled to the surface, he heard Rukia's laughter,

distorted and half drown out by a chlorine blue sea.

What sort of man _gets _kissed, but doesn't get _to _kiss? Why, the fool who tries to smooch a little black butterfly!

To hell with love, to hell with butterflies. To hell with hell butterflies.

Later that evening, long after Ichigo had given up on his futile attempts, he flopped onto the couch. A little TV did the soul good when winding down after a confusing day of emotional catastrophe.

Little did he know that by the end of the show, Ichigo would have forgotten the plot. She clambered over the top of the couch and slid down onto the cushion next to him.

Ichigo said nothing. He knew it would be futile if he tried to kiss her.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

Yes, as a matter of fact, he _did _mind. He had been playing this game all day long, with disastrous consequences.

"No."  
_  
Damn it.  
_  
His brain and his tongue seemed to have lost sync.

"Please don't pou t."

"I'm not pouting."

Of course he was pouting. When a man fails miserably to net that fluttering piece of happiness, he has every reason to pout.

"I was only teasing." Rukia smiled, laying her head on his shoulder in an okay-here-I-am-you-can-kiss-me-now sort of way.

It was tempting.

In all honesty, he was tempted to lean over and kiss her, but instead he just ignored her presence. He 'ignored' the faint scent of sweet perfume; 'ignored' the warmth against his right side, the soft squeeze of her hand against his palm, the soft black locks spilling over his shoulder. The touch of her hand against his cheekbone, and her soft rose petal lips on the bridge of his nose.

Ichigo's stomach was doing roller coasters. Topsy turvy, up and down and all around.

He sighed.

Rukia was impossible to ignore. 

- - -

**A/n: **I'm feeling _really _corny today. But what's a romance without corny scenes? Although, this drabble made me feel happy too…maybe it was the butterfly thing? 

Please read and review! Thank you to those who did review!


	5. Five Promised

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Pucker Up

Five Promised

Fire: a visible, tangible side effect of matter changingform. In other words, it is a segment of a chemical reaction derived between oxygen in the atmosphere and a source of fuel.

Never, _never_ compare love to fire. Ever!

Fire is always hungry. Fire lives to consume. It will eat everything in its path: wood, chemical, flesh, bone. Fire wants to eat. That's all it wants to do. Eat, eat, eat! The greedy bastard does not care about the things that it destroys, as long as it able to fulfill the perpetual craving.

Never compare love to fire.

Because love is kind. Love is gentle. It makes people happy, and is an essential for the health of all living organisms. If ever love must be compared to something, then compare it to sunshine. Sunshine may be harsh in the heat of summer, but it is never greedy and it is never selfish.

Sunshine may burn, but it will never destroy.

Ichigo was fairly satisfied with himself. He had successfully protected everyone that day. Sure he was a little banged up— a few deep lacerations here, a whale-shaped bruise there— but that was why Ichigo was the protect_or_ and they were the protect_ed_.

That was the Law: protect everyone he could no matter the cost and then somehow survive. A genuine routine indeed.

So as long he was alive and knew that he had done well to protect his comrades, Ichigo could sit back, scowl while Rukia cleaned the wound on his forearm, and pretend that the salve did not sting like a bitch.

Rukia pressed the salve against his bleeding arm, sponging up rivers of red. She held it there calmly, silently, while his arm was ignited wrist to elbow in a sweltering heat. He clenched his fists, glowered at the floor, and swore that he would not so much as wince.

Rukia frowned. "Idiot, I told you not to be so reckless."

Don't wince.

If he winced then he might as well a say, 'Rukia, you were right all along.' Maybe, just maybe, she had been a _little _bit right, but the hollow was dead. Everyone was safe. That was the important part.

So do not wince.

"Whatever, I saved your ass _again_ because of it."

Rukia made no reply. She lifted the gauze. The bleeding had stopped somewhat. The wound was swollen around the edges and a sticky red film had begun to form. It was definitely going to leave a scar.

"Promise me something?"

"Depends."

She pressed the gauze once more on his arm with a much lighter pressure. Ichigo's fingers twitched but he did not flinch. It still hurt.

"Don't die without me."

He looked at Rukia sideways. "What?"

"If you're going to be reckless, then promise me we'll go together." She wore a determined expression. "Die, I mean, _together_. At the same time."

Whoever said that a woman had no idea what she was doing, had never met Rukia. Rukia knew exactly what she was doing. She knew exactly what she was saying. Her words were not just frivolous romance antics.

This was Rukia's way of saying, 'I care so don't die,' but it was also her weird way of manipulating him. Yes, manipulating him for his own well being.

Because if _he_ died then _she_ would have to die too, and that would violate Ichigo's Law of Protect-Everyone-No-Matter-What. It also meant that if _she_ died, then Ichigo would have failed to protect _her_, a taboo in itself. This left Ichigo with only one option: to stay alive and protect despite all conflict.

Rukia was fully aware that if she made him promise, he would have to follow through. When a promise was made, it was made to his soul. Another law: always keep promises. So to make sure that _Ichigo_ did _not_ die, Rukia would make him promise that _they_ _would_ die together.

Crazy, manipulating little witch.

"Fine, we'll go together, but _you_ have to quite worrying."

Rukia smiled. "That's out of the question. " She wrapped carefully bandaged the wound, winding strips of white linen around the wound. She was firm, but not unkind.

When she was finished, she kissed him on the cheek. "That would be asking me not to care." Rukia did not linger long. Instead, she gathered up the extra gauze and salves, advised him to rest, and left him alone in the room.

As he laid back in bed, settling under the covers, he stared at the ceiling. The clatter of rain filled his ears. Tears drizzled down the window. Outside, a lonely tree swayed in the wind.

Reaching up with his uninjured hand, he touched the spot on his cheek where a tiny bit of warmth remained. As he began to doze off, Ichigo smiled.

How did that song go again?

Oh, yeah.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…

The job was done. Everyone was safe. It was time to rest.

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**A/n: **I probably could have done something else with the sunshine thing, but I had a bit of writer's block. Thanks to the great Al May and her prompt (fire), I was able to overcome it. Thanks Al May, thanks reviewers! 


	6. Six and Mix

Pucker Up

Six and Mix

Thud, splash. The text books slipped out of her grasp. Neither of them cared. 

Slow, deep, and temperate; seasoned in the sweet sugary essence of Chap Stick. Again, Rukia trapped him in the graceful caress of another kiss. There was no route of escape, and he did not want to escape.

Damn it.

They were drenched and it did not matter; nothing really mattered actually. Ichigo tasted the warm rain on her wet lips, drizzling down her flushed face, and his too. That was all the mattered: the taste of sweet Chap Stick and fresh rainwater.

Several cars drove by, sloshing through flooded streets.

Didn't matter.

He returned the kiss without hesitation, savoring each gentle step of the dance. His hand traced up the seam of her blouse, up and up and up the soggy lace.

"Kurosaki?" said a voice, but the voice didn't matter.

Fat rain droplets fell even harder.

"Kurosaki."

Still didn't matter.

Ichigo dismissed the pest with a flick of his wrist.

"Kurosaki," said the voice, "have you no respect for books?"

Rukia flinched. _Crap_! Had he just accidentally nipped the tender inside of her lip?

A thick vein throbbed at the corner of Ichigo's brow. Stupid voice was leaving a nasty stain on the moment. _Damn it. Now _it mattered. Whoever it was would be throttled for vandalizing the sacrosanct kiss.

Ichigo turned around, and blinked. Nothing came out of his mouth. This was bad, very bad. Perhaps the situation was not as complicated as it could have been, but for the ego, it was a terrible blow.

Rukia clapped a mortified hand over her mouth, as if to hide her sinful lips from God's prying eyes.

With the faintest, teeny-tiniest trace of a smirk, Ishida adjusted his glasses. Waterfalls surged over the edges of the black umbrella perched over his should. "I'll pretend that I didn't see anything," he said, and then pointed to the text books lying in the mud. "Just pick up those books before they get ruined."

Rukia scrambled to pick up the muddy text books.

Finally Ichigo found his voice, "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing sneaking up on people like that?"

The tiny smirk grew slightly more profound. "What the hell do you think _you're _doing kissing someone in the middle of a park on the rainiest day of the year, _Ichigo_?"

She's _not_ _just someone, _Ichigo wanted to shout_, she's Rukia and her kisses are dynamite, thank you very much!_ But his pride would never approve of those words. It was as good as saying, _Because of you, I almost chomped her friggin' lip off!_

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've fallen for Kuchi— "

Ichigo glared. "It's none of your business."

Ishida shook his head. "I guess not." He turned to leave and waved a hand over his shoulder. "Carry on you two." 

Was Ishida _laughing?_

Ichigo glared at his back. "Bastard," he muttered.

"Yeah, you should talk." Rukia gave him a sharp glance. "When you were getting sneaky with your hands."

Ichigo folded his arms and stared at a shrubby little tree with half its leaves. So what if he had? "I was not."

Rukia smoothed out her blouse. "It's fine; just don't get ahead of yourself. You're dad…" she trailed off.

"My dad," Ichigo agreed with a certain amount of dread. "Or your _brother_."

They both exchanged glances and shuddered. "Maybe the park isn't a good place…"

Ichigo nodded. Big brothers had their own set of laws to abide, and Byakuya was not only a big brother, but he had a _thing _about abiding rules. This would not go over well. Then again, that only mattered to a certain degree.

"Yeah." He paused while continuous rivers trickled down his face. The he draped an arm around Rukia's tiny shoulders. "But a shower— "

Rukia elbowed him in the gut— hard. "I _said _don't get ahead yourself!"

"I was only kidding! You don't think I'd actually— " She gave him a dubious look and he clamped his mouth shut.

In silence, they walked home through a curtain of mist and rain. Several cars passed by, sloshing through flooded streets. They did not matter. All that mattered was carrying the muddy text books and walking a chilled girl home to a shelter of loving warmth.

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A/N: I have one drabble to go…sobs This was so much fun. Maybe I'll write another series like this with a similar theme (instead of adding extra chapters like I was planning). Yay or nay? Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate your thoughts and stories. Sunshine to us all! 


	7. Seven Kisses All Over Again

**Pucker Up**

**Seven Kisses All Over Again**

So as not to disturb his slumbering comrades, Ichigo went down the list in a low whisper:

"Hook?"

Rukia nodded. "Check."

"Line?"

Another nod. "Check."

"And sinker?"

She closed the tackle box, clicked it shut, and sighed wearily, "Check."

Shouldering the fishing poles, Ichigo took a look around the quite campsite. There were two large tents. One for the boys and one for the girls. Dawn had yet to break. Everyone was still fast asleep, tucked away safely in their sleeping bags. The bonfire had been reduced to a pile of flickering embers.

Ichigo nodded approvingly. Not a single soul would miss them at this God forsaken hour. "Let's go," he whispered and headed up the trail.

They walked in silence up the winding old trail, guided by the flashlight's ghostly yellow glow. "Have you been fishing before?"

Rukia covered up a wide yawn. "Not at this hour." She glanced at the fishing poles; her eyes were tired but smiling. "Not with you either. Should be interesting."

The lake was slapped across the flat of a small valley, like a glossy black mirror gazing up at the magnificence of morning twilight. There was a rickety little dock stretching across the silent water. It was a half rotten bridge linking together two entirely different kingdoms. And all along the muddy banks there was a mantle of thorny vines that twisted together in thick green braids, and curled around the lake's slender shoulders.

The dock creaked and rocked as Ichigo perched himself on the end. Rukia settled next to him, laying the fishing rod across her lap. "Aren't you going to fish?" he asked, releasing the hook from the cork hilt of his pole. He cast it out, listening to the line zip through the air until the hook hit the water with a small plop.

Rukia replied with a shake of her head and scooted a little closer, linking her arm around his elbow. She sighed, resting her brow on the base of his shoulder, her cheek buried in furrow of his sleeve.  
_  
Hook.  
_  
The warmth of her small figure made his spin, much like the whirling reel on the fishing pole as he reeled it in to make another cast, yet he failed to push her away. It was, after all, five-O-three in the morning.

The worm wiggled helplessly while the brass hook dangled in the air, but Ichigo could hardly make out its silent pleas. It was after all five-O-four in the morning and there was the presence of sweet perfume to occupy his senses, and put him in a semi euphoric state.  
_  
Line.  
_  
Above the dusty cosmos slowly faded, and the stars disappeared one by one into the growing blush of a roseate dawn. A gentle breeze swept across the slumbering velvet hills, stirring cotton flowers and yellow dandy lions.

He cast the hook out again, listening to the line zip through the air and land with a small _plop_, where it fluttered to the bottom of the lake, drowning the little worm.

Ichigo smiled a little. It was fine since there was nobody to see his smile but the hills and the lake and of course, Rukia, all of whom could keep the secret. "A little early for fishing?"

He felt her chest lift in a peaceful sigh. "Not really," she said softly. "If anything, you're the one to blame."

"Me? Why me?"

Rukia's reply was not necessarily a vocal response, but rather it was elaborated in the language of touch, verbalized by a vocabulary memorized best with the lips and the hands.

She laughed slightly, pressed her lips on the tender spot behind his jaw, and whispered, "Just because." Her lips moved up his cheek, kiss by kiss, until she found his lips. Again and again and again.  
_  
And sinker.  
_  
They say that the grass is always greener on the other side. Ichigo had waded to this lush wonderful bank, from a mushy nacho infested marsh and he was never, never going back to that sloppy wasteland.

His first kiss had been the absolute worst in the history of all kisses. But with every one that followed, the vivid horror of that prehistoric kiss slowly vanished, one kiss after another.

The sun had barely chipped the horizon, and Rukia had him by the gills; hook, line, and sinker, by five-O-six. That blasted sugary Chap Stick was the bait, and he kept falling for it time and time again. Rukia had snagged his attention way back at two, reeled him in at three, kept him from wiggling away at four, and by five Ichigo had realized with a gentle blow to the cheek how much he really liked her. Ishida (the bastard) had caught them at six.

And seven?

Seven was on a rickety, half rotten dock, and after seven he lost count. The number did not matter. Just the slow, elaborate motions of sugar glazed lips.

The fishing pole slipped out of his grasp, slid into the icy waters with scarcely a splash.

Ichigo noticed only after the first few seconds. They both leaned over the side to watch his grandfather's fishing pole sink to the bottom of the lake.

Ichigo sighed. "Looks like I'm going swimming." He undid his shoes and was halfway in the water when he heard a _thud_, _thud_ from behind. Rukia had discarded her shoes and socks too.

She plucked at the zipper on her coat; her gaze was aimed at the half rotten wood. "May I join you?"

A suggestive silence ensued. A few years ago when Ichigo had first met Rukia, he would have flipped at even the thought, but now he was older and things were different. _Very _different. He shrugged. It might be fun to fish for fishing rod with a girl.

Besides, there was nobody around except for the hills and the lakes, both of whom would cherish their secret in silence for the eternity of time itself.

**

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**A/n: **Sadly, this is the last chapter. I'm very sad to see it end. I kept it seven chapters because seven is a good number (and I forgot the rhyme way back at three). I know I promised a few people extra chapters (which I still may post) but seven is supposed to be the ending. I hope as an ending it was at least satisfactory.  
A final thank you to Al May (beta reader extraordinaire) and to everyone who reviewed!

So, good bye for now. Dont' forget to do somebody a favor and kiss them extrodinarily well!


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